Sympathy For The Martyr
by Guardian Spirit
Summary: Various drabbles on my favorite FMA pairing, RoyxRiza.
1. Letters

At night, after battle, they lie in their tents and he writes her letters he'll never send; "if this reaches you, wait for me." He keeps them in his back pocket until they overflow and he is reminded of how her face shined on the battlefield, determined and loyal. She is extremely loyal to the army, to him, but it's never to a fault because he believes in his heart that she has none. During the day she is a solider, just as he is, and the words "start over again" hold no terror for them because they are ready to die at a moment's notice. It is their duty.

But at night duty no longer weighs on their shoulders and she sits outside and asks him how can disaster be so beautiful. He never answers because in truth he does not know the answer, only knows that there is something poetic in the way she speaks, in the curve of her chin and the tilt of her head. She is so delicate and Roy is reminded that there is much in this world to be saved from. His coat is caked with blood and he wonders if this is what it feels like to die.

He thinks about losing her and knows that fear is real and justified. It breaks his heart and he feels utterly and completely alone, but they aren't allowed to love because they are soldiers and he understands that. So he writes her letters and hopes that one day, after he is long gone, she will read them and remember him fondly. She will remark, "something with wings went wild in my chest once" when speaking of him and everyone there will know that he, Roy Mustang, was someone special in her life. He thinks it dramatic and naïve, but the thought never fails to bring a smile to his face.


	2. Flowers

Riza Hawkeye made it a point to never miss work. So when she was sick, it was as if the whole world stopped turning.

Roy could never concentrate on these days. His office always seemed a little more quiet, a little more empty, and it unnerved him. He would stare at the clock for hours and when lunch came he would gather up his coat and head to a little cart on the corner. There he would buy her flowers, daisies, because he knew they were her favorite. He knew her like he knew every bit of information in the books he read.

He would leave the flowers lying on her front steps and hours later when Riza, sleepy and slightly disoriented, went to the door to let Black Hayate outside, she would discover them lying there. She would pick them up and read the note - "Get Well Soon" - and wonder who they could be from. In a rare show of naivety, she might imagine a secret admirer, a knight in shining armor come to sweep her off her feet.

It always pleased Roy to see the flowers on her desk the next day.


	3. Wishes

Sometimes he wishes they could've met differently. Different circumstances, different time. There'd be roses and picnics and she'd fall for his charm. It'd be a proper love, the kind you read about in romance novels.

He'd take her out to dinner and listen as she feverishly described the skirt she bought that day, how she couldn't wait to show it off to him. He had a weakness for skirts and she knew it; she liked to exploit him that way. Her face would glow with excitement and he'd smile. They'd hold hands across the table and people would point and whisper. They'd know they were in love.

And when he was sick she'd bring him soup. She would chastise him for being foolish, for not wearing his jacket tight enough like she had told him to. She'd be angry, but more out of worry than anything, and he'd apologize. Her eyes would soften as he sneezed and she'd hand him a tissue. She'd say she loved him even though he was all puffy and red, but he wouldn't let her kiss him because he didn't want her to catch what he had. He'd always be thinking of her. Later when he was asleep she would kiss him anyway, just because she could.

Roy wishes, but he knows it's foolish. He can never have them - the roses, the diner, the get-well soup. Instead he has his paperwork and medals and the smell of rotting flesh. He has the life he thought he wanted, but now wished he didn't.

But he also has her and it's enough to keep him going.


	4. Escape

She never enjoyed the quietness of the town. She had always been fond of the bright lights, the fast pacing of battle and the sounds of bullets as they whizzed through the air. Here, she felt restless. Her body ached for movement, for a command to carry out. She missed the gleam of her weapon in the afternoon sun as she positioned it slightly toward the enemy. She had never been cut out for desk work.

He, on the other hand, preferred the monotonous drone of the office to the battlefield, which he had always associated with the pains of death. Unlike her, who attached an almost poetic feel to the art of war, he could never forget the dead. He never forgot their screams as he burned them alive, nor their charred corpses which littered the battlefield and made him sick. He missed the times when he had just been a young idealist who, on a whim, decided to become an alchemist. He missed the naivety he had known just days before his deployment to the battlefield. The bliss he felt when given his first command.

They both wish their lives could be different; she for a return to the life she once had and he to begin anew. They pray for things to change, but they are both hardened by the trials of war and know that they shouldn't hope too much. And it hurts them and sometimes they feel as if they can't go on because doing so would be next to impossible with the cards they've been dealt. But then they are reminded of the experiences they've shared together, the hard earned trust and loyalty that was bred at night underneath their tents. And they are thankful for each other, if nothing else.


	5. Live

Life is precious and Riza Hawkeye knows that. She was brought up to respect every form of it, whether it be beautiful or grotesque. So it's no surprise that she is hesitant to kill, even at the orders of those she respects the most. She'll say a silent apology into the barrel of her gun, hoping it will reach her victims before she pulls the trigger. The loss of life pains her and she hopes that somewhere someone knows that. Otherwise she doesn't think she could live with herself.

Riza has never romanticized battle, even before she was an experienced soldier. She was never naïve, always pragmatic. She knows death to be real and tangible out in the deserts of Ishvar. It lingers heavy in the air and fills every crevice of the tent she shares with soldiers she only knows on the battlefield. Riza is unsure of death. It frightens her, but it does not hinder her. There is much in this life she is willing to die for; her family, her fellow soldiers, the innocent lives she has sworn to protect.

She would die for all of these things, but she would live for Roy. And that, she knows, means more than anything in the world.


	6. Change

It was something spectacular, or maybe not, but it felt that way and she sure as hell wasn't going to dispute the feeling rising slowly from her abdomen and into her lungs, filling every tiny crevice of her body as if it were her very being. She liked him, there was no denying that, but there was something different this time and she felt the opportunity in her grip as she slipped her hand into his and squeezed. He smiled at her, and she smiled back, and it was as if the sun and moon had all collided and nothing existed in that moment but them and the tingly feeling of their palms pressing lightly together. She felt happy, happier than she ever had before. His eyes were shining into hers and although he said nothing, he said everything at the same time and the silence meant more to her than all of the volumes of written text in the world. And in that moment, she decided to go for it. She kissed him. And she knew that nothing would ever be the same again, but she didn't care. She wanted everything that was promised in the kiss and she knew he would give it to her.


	7. Push

He does everything in his power to push her away. He hates this, doesn't care for this, wishes she would leave him alone, but she stares at him, sympathy in her gaze, and he can't help but feel he doesn't deserve her. She never questions, always understands, and his appreciation for that runs deep in his veins. But he never knows how to show that, so he just continues to push her away. He's subconsciously testing her and he knows it and hates himself for it. But every single time she passes unflinching, never questioning his motives only calming him with her unconditional kindness. He's never met someone like her before and something about her unwavering loyalty catches him off guard. It scares him.

But when he's done, when the fear subsides and he's left there staring into her eyes, he realizes that everything he needs is right there in front of him. She's his angel, sent from a God he doesn't believe in to save him. Knowing this, Roy Mustang prays. He prays because he doesn't know what else to do because nothing in his life has ever felt more important than this. So he thanks God for her and hopes for a day where they can be free from the desert.


	8. Sacrifice

She stands quietly, staring at the grasses that are swayed by the wind. She looks out at the field and the ocean that stretches far beyond it and she might feel as if she were flying, if it weren't for her two feet planted firmly on soil. And in this instant, she is not afraid to die. The wind caresses her face as it sweeps in and out of the blonde tresses of hair that hang down messily against her neck. She thinks back to a time when they were young, when the word "sacrifice" held nothing but a dictionary definition; to forfeit something of high value for the sake of something of a greater value. Now the word had more meaning, it was more tangible to her. In it was fire, smoke, gunshots, screams, tears, a kiss… All of the hopes and dreams of the world resting on that one little word.

"I'd do anything for you."

The words rang in her ears, even now, piercing her heart as she replayed the scene over and over in her head. It had happened so quickly; first, a shot, then another, and she felt something wet trickling down her arm. She wasn't prepared for the shock or the pain that came along with it and for the first time in her life, she was afraid. Really, truly afraid. Another shot, followed by flames, and she was scooped up into someone's arms, into Roy's arms. Her body felt cold, but in his arms her warmth was restored and she felt safe. But all of that was shattered with the cold blade of a knife and as he lay there dying she sobbed into his jacket, "why would you do that?" and he smiled sleepily at her and replied, "I'd do anything for you."

The sky glowed red to orange and it reflected off the ocean onto her body and warmed her through to the core. She knew it was him, calling her to the sky and the sun that burned brightly in it. And in that moment she closed her eyes and surrendered herself to the sea.


	9. Almost

There's very little time to think and even less to act, especially in a world like theirs. So when Riza bends over to reach for the file Roy can't help it, he lunges for her thigh and the next thing he knows she is straddling his lap, tongues down each other's throats. His hand starts to wander up her skirt and he hears her gasp in between kisses as she leans forward against his chest. She places her hands on his shoulders and he is just starting to unbutton her blouse when she suddenly breaks the kiss. He grunts at the absence of her lips, the dissatisfaction it creates in him. He didn't want to stop. She stares down at him, uncertainty in her gaze, and he takes a breath as he realizes what she is trying to tell him. They can't do this. In silent acceptance he lets his hands fall and she reluctantly climbs off of him. She leaves the room quietly and they never speak about it. They go about their business and from then on Riza takes to wearing pants in the office. It's all they can do to keep things professional.


	10. Flu

It began innocently enough. First, a sneeze. Then a series of coughs. After five minutes of her steady throat noises, Roy looked up from his desk to find the rest of his officers staring as well.

"Are you alright, Lieutenant?"

She looked up, startled. "Yes, sir. It's just a bit of a cold." She took a sip of her tea and that was that.

---

It was evident by the next morning, however, that it was not just a cold. He watched as she stumbled into the office, cheeks flushed and sniffling profusely. When she reached out to take his finished files he handed her a tissue instead.

"Go home, Lieutenant."

She hesitated for a moment and then sighed wearily. "Okay."

He was taken aback. She really must not be feeling well, if her lack of an argument was any indication. He stood from his desk to help her with her coat and again she didn't complain.

"Do you want someone to walk you home?"

The concern in his voice was evident, but she shook her head. "No, sir. I'll be fine."

She left the office with Black Hayate yapping at her feet and he went back to his paperwork.

---

On the third day of her sick leave, he began to get restless. She hardly ever took time off work, so to miss it three days in a row signaled something was really wrong. She had phoned the office each morning, apologizing profusely to Fury who answered the phone. It was okay, he told her. Everyone gets sick.

Riza Hawkeye never got sick. Even if she did she never let it interfere with her ability to do her job. Armed with this knowledge, Roy gathered up his coat at 1700 hours and headed over to her apartment to check on her. He just wanted to make sure she was alright. When he arrived his knock was greeted by silence and so he grazed his hand against the door frame to retrieve the spare key he knew she kept there. It had always struck him as odd, really, that someone so seemingly put together as her would admit to forgetfulness. He didn't think she ever used it, but the cold metal sat there day in and day out. Just in case. She always did stress preparedness, he thought to himself.

He shushed Black Hayate as he entered the apartment, calling out to her. There was no response as he made his way down the hall and his eyes caught her sleeping form, slumped beneath blankets. Her nose was red and her breathing was raspy. She looked absolutely miserable. He braced himself against the door frame and again called to her, this time much softer. "Riza?"

She lifted her head groggily from the pillows to look at him, confusion on her face evident through her sleepy, half hooded eyes. "Colonel?"

He smiled softly, enjoying the normality of the situation. The mundaneness of it all. And even more so, her inability to separate completely from the confines of the office. Even he who spent his days wooing higher ups with fancy conversation could never revert to formalities so quick. Not in the state she seemed to be in, at least. It astounded him sometimes. Still, she didn't sound particularly upset with his slight breech of protocol (fraternization, she would remind him in the office when he flashed her a grin) as he made his way towards her bed. Her eyes, still heavy with sleep, followed him with less precision than he had ever seen from her.

"Just Roy today," he stated plainly as he crouched down next to her bed. She nodded as she set her head back down on the pillows and he reached out gently to run a hand across her forehead. He frowned at the heat that radiated off of her, worry etched across his face. He felt terrible for her. Still, he couldn't ignore the way she leaned into his touch. It was slight, so that no one else would have been able to notice it. But he noticed, as she released a contented breath and loosened her grip on the sheets. He noticed the relief in her eyes despite the haze of fever that clouded them.

"Would you like anything?" he asked quietly. She shook her head slowly as her eyes began to droop.

"Just stay here."

Perhaps it was a sign that in her most vulnerable state she always let him in.


	11. Dreams

In his dreams her hair is always worn down. She is always smartly dressed, a distinct lack of miniskirts much to his mild disappoint. He finds it very telling that even in his dreams she refuses to fulfill that one tiny wish of his. He supposes it's for the best, because even in his dreams he is wildly jealous of any other man that so much as looks at her. She would only attract more attention dressed like that and he is perfectly happy with her choice of outfits, anyway.

In his dreams she clings tightly to him in the winter air, body pressed into the crook of his arm. He places his hand on the small of her back as he steers her towards the row of shops and she lets him, relinquishing her pride long enough for him to indulge his sense of chivalry. He watches in awe as she points excitedly through the window of the bakery and wonders how it is he ended up with such a beautiful woman. She tugs at his hand and a gust of warm air hits his face accompanied by the overwhelming smell of cinnamon. He loses her for a moment only to have her return with a small white box tied tightly with a thin red ribbon. A treat for later, she tells him.

In his dreams they are still soldiers, but the battles are no longer arduous. They always catch the bad guy, no one is ever hurt, and he is always rewarded with her lips pressed passionately against his because it isn't against the rules. In his dreams his paperwork is miraculously finished before he arrives, the offending stack replaced with his smirking Lieutenant perched suggestively against his desk. He doesn't even need to order the others out because in his dreams they are always alone in moments like these. There are never any annoyances, interruptions, or the dreaded pull of professionalism at his back. She is his, forever his. Roy and Riza.

He used to dream of Ishbal, death, and decay. He dreamt of the atrocities he committed, the ghosts he feared would always haunt him. Now he can only dream of life, of happiness and warmth and he thinks it a more effective punishment than the nightmares ever were. He hates it. He aches with a want that is unbecoming of a man like him as he is faced every morning with the realization that only in his dreams is Riza Hawkeye not lying limp on the ground, struck by a bullet in perhaps the biggest irony life could throw at any of them. Her eyes aren't thrust open in terror and her breath isn't caught in her throat. She isn't drowning in red as he tries desperately to prevent the inevitable. He wakes every morning and wonders, eyes swollen, if equivalent exchange has failed because nothing he could ever gain could take away from the pain of losing her. He cannot breathe knowing that only in his dreams is she still alive. It's unbearable.

----

Author's note: I've started updating this thing after years of inactivity for some unexplainable reason. Thank you to everyone who's still reading this and to any new readers I might have picked up with my recent resurfacing. It seems Roy and Riza return to me when I least expect it and it's nice to have my muse again.

Also, I realize the last chapter wasn't a drabble at all. Neither is this one, really... I've been getting carried away in my excitement! Forgive me. :)


	12. Charade

Fuery listens as his Lieutenant and Colonel converse over the military line, their flirting bold and verging on inappropriate, a stark contrast to the stuffy atmosphere of the office. It's a complicated charade they've concocted to keep the Colonel informed while they're in the field without any suspicions arising. It's for the sake of the mission, or at least that is what they insist. Fuery and the others have reason to believe otherwise, the least of which is not the fact that they will carry on far longer than duty entails. They try to outdo one another with their metaphors, their poetic words of two lovers head over heels, but everyone _knows _it isn't just for show. Sometimes Fuery has half a mind to get on the line himself and tell them to _knock it off or get a room already_, but he sees the way Riza's eyes light up for a brief moment and reconsiders. Really, if they are able to find some semblance of happiness in this mess they've all fallen into then who is he to say anything? It _is_ awful sweet, really, and not entirely unexpected. Surrounded by the dingy mess of the abandoned building, he sits and listens through his ear piece to his superiors secretly fantasize about a life that could have been if things had turned out differently. It's a shred of hope in between all the madness and Fuery can appreciate that.


	13. Rain

Roy stared out the window intently, suppressing a sigh that was threatening to release. He could not see the rain, save for the drops illuminating patterns against the pavement. It was all one color now, a dark shade of brown, but every few seconds a splash would alert him to the its presence. It was beautiful, in a way. A blinking light show made only for him and still it took everything in him not to frown in disgust. He really did dislike the rain.

Roy's thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the slam of the opening door against the wall. It startled him momentarily, but the shock was quickly overtaken by amusement at the site before him. Riza Hawkeye stood stiffly where the closed door used to, eyes furrowed in an annoyance he was not quick to test, but was curious about nonetheless. Bangs plastered sporadically against her forehead, her normally pristine boots were sloshed with mud as she entered the office, her jacket leaving trails of water in her wake. An umbrella was noticeably absent as she dumped her bag quite loudly against her desk. Roy watched as she arranged a stack of papers into her arms, whipping a few stray bangs out of her face. She shuffled over to him, offering the stack silently. Their eyes met briefly and he moved to take the papers from his waterlogged Lieutenant, but a drop of rain fell from her nose, smudging the ink on the topmost sheet and he couldn't help but tempt fate. He laughed.

"It seems I'm not the only one who is useless in the rain."

Riza scowled and dumped the papers angrily into his outstretched arms before retreating to her desk. For a moment Roy felt guilty, but he could not ignore the hint of a smirk on her face as she began her morning routine.

Perhaps there were some redeeming qualities to the foul weather after all.


	14. Envy

The office is empty when she enters it. Roy is noticeably absent along with his gloves and she can't decide if that is a good or bad thing, if he is out there being overly cautious or infuriatingly careless. She vaguely recalls him mentioning being hungry, though that does nothing to stop the flutter in her stomach. She spends most of her time worrying about him these days. When she approaches his workspace, though, it is more out of curiosity than some lingering fear, more selfish than it would initially appear. She _is _only human, after all.

The desk is cold beneath her finger tips as she delicately brushes against it. The left side is singed, a pattern of blemishes leading towards the edge. Ed must have dodged that day. As she sits, she notices a sizable chunk missing from the chair to the right of where his head would rest. That is her fault this time, though it is arguably his as well. She cautiously runs her fingers against it before pulling away.

As she lays her palms flat she wonders what the wood must feel like under gloved hands. She wonders what it must be like to wield this command, if the weight is insufferable, invigorating, or both. She wordlessly issues a command, trying it on for size and is immediately embarrassed by the moment of indulgence. Riza isn't normally one to be jealous, but from time to time she can't help wonder what the view is like two steps forward rather than two steps back. He is charismatic, a mover and a shaker, but she is sharp and quick with her hands. He is young, but they forget that she is even younger and her skills would swiftly lead her to generalship if not that her bullet was angled to protect only one.

The first indication of the Colonel's return is the clicking of his heels as he ambles down the hallway. _Overly cautious then_, she thinks as she recalls the gloves. His gait does not lend to someone who has just left the fight of his life.

He enters the room and she silently trains her eyes on him, no explanation forthcoming for why she is seated at his desk. He trusts her implicitly and knows that if she were to betray him it would only be because he deserved it. She notices the plate in his hand as he approaches her, clutched tightly between fingers that could just as easily kill her. There are days when she spends almost all her time contemplating those hands. The contrast between violence and tenderness is dizzying.

"Strawberry cheesecake," he explains as he sets the plate in front of her, "I remember you saying you liked it."

Riza stares at him for a moment, caught off guard by the irregularity of his offer. She contemplates the potential message behind his words (he has always made it a habit to speak in metaphors), but then his eyes soften and so she wordlessly grabs the fork he offers and stuffs a piece of the dessert in her mouth. The cake is deliciously smooth as it runs down her throat, a slice of heaven amidst the drone of the office, a break from routine. As he grabs the unfinished paperwork he had left earlier and turns to sit at _her_ desk she can't help but smile.

It is nice to know she is appreciated sometimes.


	15. Idolization

On warm summer days when there was little work to be done she would curl catlike into the sofa by his desk, book balanced gingerly in her lap. She always indicated that the change of scenery was to keep an eye on him, to make sure what needed to be done was done, but Roy knew better. She chose her perch not by mere practicality, but for the fact that she enjoyed the warmth of the sun on her shoulders. She was like an animal, lolling about in the summer haze, and he would watch as the heat made her drowsy and her chin dipped towards her chest. Roy knew in these instances that she would be the death of him; her beauty only became ever more present in slumber, body rising and falling with each careful breath. He would note the arch of her spine, the poetry that swam from each curve, the delicate angle of her hips. How he would long to touch her for a moment if it meant he could share in such heaven. He knew divinity had no place in his hands, though, and so he would content himself to gaze at her from a distance with the wonder of a child who believes he is that much closer to looking into the eyes of God.


End file.
